


Lost letters

by Kolaflor, nupoxsi



Category: Historical RPF, The Liberator (2013)
Genre: Field battles, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Letters, M/M, Revolutionaries In Love, Slow Build, War, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kolaflor/pseuds/Kolaflor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nupoxsi/pseuds/nupoxsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio José de Sucre had heard marvelous things about Simón Bolívar, the General in Chief in charge of liberating an entire continent, a great warrior and intelligent and passionate war leader; but little he knew about the man himself.<br/>A tale told through letters that expressed way more than they seemed.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guayana, Venezuela, 1817.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a funny dare and ended up being this, here you have it, [Ricardo](http://sweetawkwardboy.tumblr.com/), this is for you.  
> Also, we couldn't limit ourselves to do only the fic, [we had to spice it up a bit](http://8tracks.com/abbycolinad/revolutionaries-in-love/); you're welcome.

Antonio had heard about him from Santiago, yet words couldn't compare to what the man inspired him the moment they stood side by side to set some facts about the upcoming strategies they were to take against the spanish army. Simón was one of the brightest persons he’d met in his whole life, and his trajectory spoke by itself. He had been sent there to give a new perspective to the realist strategy due to his extensive knowledge of engineering, but standing next to the head of the operation made him feel like just a simple 22 years old boy playing war.

“Cumaná, huh?” Simón said all of the sudden when it was only the two of them walking near the somewhat large groups of men passing different weapons that had just arrived and checking them out.

“Yes, sir,” Antonio replied politely, his eyes wandering around the green lands instead of setting on Simón’s face. “But I traveled to Caracas at a young age.”

“Your parents moved there?”

He stopped walking. “My mother…died, sir. A long time ago. Her wish was to have me sent to Caracas so I could become an army engineer.”

“Please…” Simón said with honesty, and he turned in time to catch his smirk as he reached to touch Antonio’s shoulder. “Call me Simón.”

“Simón…” he mumbled before smiling shily.

“Anyway, Antonio, I’m sorry about your mother, I wish I would've had the honour to meet her.” The hand that was on his shoulder now was set on his lower back as they resumed their walk.

“I appreciate your words, s-...Simón.”

“Don’t mention it. my mother died when I was of a very young age as well, I know what is it to be raised under those terms.” Simón continued saying as they walked through some muddy path. Antonio wanted to know everything about it, he suddenly got an interest in Simón’s personal life because the man was one of a kind. However, asking for more information would be considered strange, so Antonio made a small gesture with his head that would be considered as polite as an answer could be. “Anyway, enough chat about death, don’t you think, Antonio? Tell me more about yourself. Have you ever been to Spain?”

Antonio chuckled. “No, not really, but I've heard there are some pretty lands in the south of the territory.”

“They do have some pretty lands, and pretty women…” Simón seemed somewhat melancholic all of the sudden, but then he shook his head and hid the tremble of his voice beneath a weak chuckle. “Yet don’t let yourself be fooled by the words of people, Antonio, our lands are far more beautiful. Just look around and you’ll see it for yourself.”

Antonio did look around, and after gazing upon green fields with plenty of trees surrounding them, he looked at Simón. The renowned man was shorter than him, and his skin had been coloured by the sun, leaving a tan that made him look like a true venezuelan. There was something rather pleasing on Simón’s looks, and it was hard to guess why. _Maybe everything_. Antonio only broke visual contact when he figured it’d be awkward if he kept studying Simón’s features with such curiousness.

“I do now,” he mumbled unsure of what exactly was he referring to anymore.

With that being said, they reached the end of the path that had been traced by the soldiers on the mud. The sounds of small rocks against others along with the smell of water gave Antonio the heads up of what was next, and Simón seemed to experience the same, judged by his playful smirk and the tug he gave on Antonio’s sleeve. 

“Sir?”

“ _Simón_ ,” he said, dragging the vowels as if to make more emphasis.

“Erhm yes, Simón, I–I should retire, Piar must be looking for me to set some...–”

“No, no...I'd be more than honored if someone as...as you could keep me company this afternoon,” Simón said looking up as he undid his breeches. “If your wishes are to stay, of course.”

Antonio flushed harder as he blinked to see Simón completely naked. He had to look away, somewhat embarrassed. He’d just met him and Simón already treated him like one of his closest friends or relatives, which led him to think maybe his charismatic style had something to do with the power of conviction Simón had on everyone. Antonio knew nothing would've been possible without Miranda, and Simón had been the one who’d planted the main idea in his head.

Only after realising that, Antonio started unbuttoning his uniform.

“You win.”

“Let’s cross our fingers so this will not be the only thing I win these days” Simón joked before getting into the river.

 

 


	2. Trujillo, Venezuela, 1820.

The candle was melting and shining bright over the wooden desk in the room he was staying at in Santa Ana. Antonio held a letter in his hands that he'd left half read, overwhelmed by many emotions. In the past years he’d had a fundamental role in the battle for a free Venezuela, standing by Simón’s side in many decisive moments for the revolution.

The laces of their relationship had rapidly grown stronger as they got to know more about each other, especially during the night whilst the rest of the company slept in improvised tents or in hammocks tied between tall trees. Instead, they spared a couple of hours before going to sleep to talk. Sometimes it would be on going through new strategies, considering what members of their party had to say, but others nights were spent on getting to know little facts about each other. Simón had many stories to tell, and Antonio was always more than happy to listen all of them.

Merely a month ago he had redacted the now called _Armistice Agreement and Regularization of War_ which had put a momentary stop to the battles between the patriot and realist armies that hadn’t stopped since 1813. He got news that this agreement he had written was helping Simón in Valencia at the moment, and took the interest of some important men around.

He didn't want to feel over accomplished by a plan designed by members of the company, but the letter he was holding in his hands was making him full of joy and incredibly proud of himself; of course, it was written by one of the few people whose compliments could bring a smile to his face with such easiness. Antonio would remember every word Simón had spoken about him, written in paper or that he’d heard personally, and he couldn't help but feel his heart beating faster every single time he had Simón’s lovely words present in his mind. His eyes fell back to the piece of paper he held trying to memorize every word, soon finding the line he’d left on.

> _(...)...the most beautiful monument of piety applied to war, (...)...this treaty is worthy of your soul…”_

Recently he felt relieved of having the opportunity to read Simon’s words instead of listening to them off the man’s lips, they hadn’t been able to be in each other’s company for a while now, but the last couple times, Antonio had to actually look away and find excuses not to stare at him without any kind of shame or simply reach to casually place his hand over his.

 _It’s better this way_ , he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quotes from this letter are canon, of course, you can check them up [ here](http://orienteweb.com/es/sucre/personajes/antoniojosedesucre/armisticiosantaana.html).


	3. Quito, Ecuador, 1822.

Antonio felt ecstatic, their win at _Pichincha_ hadn’t been easy and lowering their guard wasn't an option, especially when vestiges of the battle were still happening right there in _Quito_. At noon, he found himself staring at the scribbled map of the continent where every day a new territory was added to the patriot side; the north of South America belonged to them now and, hopefully, they would soon achieve their goal of unifying all the nations into one, where the spanish patriarchs would be long gone.

Hurried footsteps could be heard along the big house they were staying at, people moved from one side to another carrying news and writing reports letters that they’d send in morning. Antonio tried to ignore the sound of doors being closed with loud thuds and the creaks of the wooden floor as men passed right in front of his room.

“ _I think my career…_ ” a voice recited from the door behind startling Antonio. He turned around quickly to find Simón reading a letter... _his letter_. “ _…and my life are marked by the testimony…_ ” He froze instantly, remembering the exact words he had written earlier that month when he had felt a jolt of bravery after a successful day. It’d been a reply to Simón’s, who’d greeted him for his efforts after reaching _Pichincha_ and taking advantage of the situation and place. The man walked slowly inside the room with his eyes glued to the piece of paper and a smirk on his lips.“ _…of sincere affection for you, and I doubt if I’ve loved my own father more than I love you._ ”

“Simón!” he exclaimed in surprise, instantly standing from the chair and leaving the map and some papers aside. “What are you doing here? No one informed me of your early arrival.”

“My dear Antonio, I didn't know you were capable of putting words worthy of a true poet into paper,” he said looking directly at him as he reached the maps table. "Has it crossed your mind the thought of becoming a man of words?" he teased with a smile.

“Never, sir…”

“Antonio, how many times do I have to tell you there’s no room for such formalities between us?” Simón shoot him a look. “I am Simón, your friend, haven’t I treated you like one?”

“Of course you have…” he muttered a bit embarrassed. He was certain that Simón was his friend, and it was a true honour that he considered Antonio his friend, too. “I’m truly happy to see you, _Simón_.”

“Are you, honestly?” Simón inquired, arching a brow, and Antonio limited himself to give him a small nod. “Then what are you waiting to give me a hug?”

Those words took him unprepared. Simón had always been a physical person, whilst Antonio always kept some distance from people. However, with the pass of the time he’d gotten used to Simón’s affections, and although it was hard, he also tried to reciprocate them in the best way he could. With two long steps he moved around the table to pull the shorter man into a hug. Simón embraced him just as quick, just as they had about six months ago.

“How do you like _Quito_?” he mumbled amusedly as Simón’s hand moved from his lower back to set on the back of his neck, giving him a smile.

“Quite a beautiful place, especially after almost freezing myself to death every now and then,” Simón joked, putting a smile on Antonio’s face. “I wish you could've been there, your company would’ve helped me shield from the cold.”

"Anyhow, we should probably have something to eat, if you don't mind. We've got many things to celebrate, you're now a general, after all," Simón said walking towards the door. Antonio felt how his heart skipped a beat.

“I-I am, what?” he asked, taken aback by his statement.

“Lavalle and the others advised me to have a proper ceremony over this, but I figured it would be better to tell you in person,” Simón said leaning against the door frame. “Besides, you're going to be the new quartermaster of the _Quito_ department too; I just thought you'd appreciate someone giving you the heads up before people started congratulating you around town. Everybody already knows.”

“I–...of course I'm honoured, it just took me by surprise.” Antonio smiled with honesty.

Simón cleared his throat. “If not having an official and proper way to inform you of this decision has bothered you, I apologise. It was me the one who decided to tell you personally instead.”

“But there’s no bother!” He hurried to say in that instant. Simon’s eyes widened, yet he still looked amused with what he heard. Stiffly, Antonio placed a hand over Simón’s shoulder. “In fact, I appreciate it even more because I got to hear the news from your lips, Simón.”

“All settled, then,” the man said with a sincere smile. “So, considering that we haven’t seen each other in months, would you do me the honours of joining me for dinner?”

“How could I refuse?” Antonio said. “There are lots of things to talk about.”

Simón chuckled. “Indeed, there are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the quote coming from Sucre's letter is legit, actually taken from one of the letters he sent Bolívar between 1820-1830.


	4. Lima, Perú, 1823.

Going down to the river always made him feel like a little kid, just as if he was enjoying the childhood he never had. Earlier that month, Simón had asked for him, given that the Great Colombia’s Congress had authorised him to be in charge of Lima, and Antonio’s role in the picture was to help Simón with written documents, claiming Antonio’s skills with words was better than any other man’s. Antonio knew it was a lie, but he took the compliment and joined Simón’s party without a second doubt.

They had wandered around the newest place they were staying at on the first day they reunited. Close to the main building Simón’s men were staying at, they had discovered a small course of a crystalline river. That lead him, after giving it several thoughts, to ask Simón if he’d like to take a little walk to clear up their minds, and, of course, Simón hadn’t only accepted his proposal but also had guessed Antonio’s intentions were to take him for a refreshing bath at the river just like the old times.

After Simón informed he’d be off for a lapse of two hours with Antonio, they made their way between trees and rocks, following an imaginary path that was written in the back of Antonio’s mind. It didn't take them long until they arrived to the little hidden place they’d seen before, and Simón, who had been silent for most of the walk, gave a loud laugh as he stirred.

“It is nice to be able to come here and not having to be giving orders to people who don’t wanna hear them,” Simón exclaimed as he took off his thin shirt.

“I never thought I’d see the day when those words would come from the mouth of the mighty Simón Bolívar.” Antonio laughed as he imitated the man’s actions.

“Why?” Simón asked expectantly after he took the rest of his clothes off and gave him an amused look before getting into the apparently cold water.

“Everyone wants you in charge,” Antonio teased him as he easily got rid of his clothes.

“I am meant to be offended by that fact, Antonio?”

“How could it be?” He threw the folded clothes over a rock nearby, the boots on the mud. “I would want you in charge too,” he confessed automatically before being able to measure his words. For a long time, he had tried to keep his feelings for the man hidden, only to himself. Perhaps he’d said too much, and as he thought this he felt his face heating up ashamedly. The situation didn’t get any better when he heard Simón laughing from afar.

“What am I supposed to understand from that?” Simón demanded to know, and even under the chill weather of Lima that September afternoon, Antonio felt how sweat collected in his palms. He took a deep breath.

“I’m here to follow your commands, Simón,” he mumbled as he got into the water, maybe its temperature would make some sense come back to his mind. “That’s why you brought me here.”

“To follow my commands. I see.” Simón nodded as he played with a tiny leaf floating in the surface water.“Any...command, Antonio?” Something in his tone changed.

“I don’t see why not.” Antonio shrugged not sure of how to react as the man took a step closer to him.

“What if I asked you to do something bad?” Simón took another step. “Something that people wouldn't consider appropriate?”

He swallowed hard. Maybe the words weren't meant to sound as suggestive as they did, but Antonio stood there, frozen and caught in embarrassment. However, he’d heard the question, and without hesitation he said, “if you it’s command, Simón, then I most certainly would do it.”

“Without asking questions?” He lifted a quizzical brow. Antonio was sure he shouldn't be trying to pay attention to how lascivious Simón’s voice was sounding in that instant.

“I'm sure I wouldn't need to.”

“Would you trust me entirely?”

“You know I do.”

“I’m guessing that by now you should be aware,” Simón told him, “of how lucky I am to have you by my side.”

Suddenly Antonio was too aware of Simón's proximity as well as their naked bodies were merely a few inches from each other; he felt his breath caught on his throat as the man approached him lifting one of his hands.

“Done,” Simón mumbled casually, Antonio had no idea when had he closed his eyes but he opened them quickly seeing how the man had a little green leaf on his hand. “It got stuck on your shoulder when you got in,” he said throwing it behind Antonio.

He turned only to see the little green dot floating away from them, passing behind some rocks before completely disappearing from his sight. For a brief moment he got lost in his own thoughts,  Antonio turned around again to face Simón, whose eyes were set on the water around him, a second before, the man looked up to him with a tiny smile. Antonio’s eyes wandered on the water right at their waists level, taking a glimpse at what could Simón be interested in and his heart skipped a beat for the second time that evening as he felt color rising to his cheeks, apparently the evocative conversation he was having with Simón had a certain effect on him making his cock act at its own accord.

Thankfully, Simón spoke to spare him further embarrassment.

“What about a race to that tree over there?” Simón suggested. “If you’re not afraid to lose.”

Antonio arched his brows suggestively. “When have I ever been afraid of that?”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He winked before throwing himself forward and sinking into the water with a small splash.

“That’s cheating!”

Antonio started swimming behind him too, and quickly reached his side. What Simón lacked of height, was compensated with arm strength and resistance, whilst Antonio was tall and easier for him to give big fathoms that’d help him shorten distances. The silly race seemed pretty tied until Antonio realised the underwater situation gave him a completely different perspective of Simón's body, suddenly he didn't felt like the only one who had been _affected_ by their previous conversation.

Obviously, Simón reached the tree first.

“I won!!” He exclaimed proudly, yet Antonio felt like a winner himself.


	5. Junín, Perú, 1824.

As often happened before leaving for battles, men were moving fast on the outsides of the big house they’d picked for the whole company to settle in for three days more or less. There was plenty of room in the place, they’d even arranged a room specially for weapon storage, an improvised armory that would help him that day. Antonio was outside the main entrance of the house, his back resting against one of the columns that led to the porch, watching men go back and forth the whole land, some carrying different packages to the inside of the house, others setting up the horses.

In truth, he was particularly anxious over this one battle, mostly because he wasn’t taking part on it. His command was to stay for support in case the vanguard needed more men, which he’d had troubles understanding, but didn’t complain. Those had been Simón’s orders, and he’d sworn to follow them.

His eyes soon caught a glimpse of Simón’s white horse approaching the land, and Antonio immediately took a step forward and straightened his pose. Arriving with Rooke and O’Leary behind, Simón stopped galloping only a few meters away from the porch, getting down from Palomo, his white, tall horse that barely left his side, and standing there until his comrades got down from their own horses.

“Simón!” He called out for him, and quickly Simón jerked his head in his direction.

“My dear Antonio,” the man said with a voice soft as silk, already pacing towards Antonio with a smile on his face. “I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you before we headed to the lake, but I’m glad I did.”

“I’ve been waiting for you, actually.”

Simón quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Wish you would’ve let me know yesterday, I could’ve spared a couple of minutes before I went with Daniel and James to take a look around.”

“It’s okay, Simón, I only wanted to have a word with you…can we go inside?” Antonio asked, filled with hope. “I know you’re in a hurry, but if you could spare four or five minutes that would be more than enough.”

He stared at him with narrowed eyes but only for a moment. “As you wish, my dear Antonio.”

Anxiously, Antonio gave a small nod before turning on his heels and heading to the inside of the place. Simón trailed after him, patting the backs of the different men he found in his way in. He’d always been kind to people, even with those he hadn’t known for a long time, and it was one of the several things Antonio loved about him. Eventually, after climbing two flight of stairs, Antonio found an empty room with one big desk and two small chairs, and without thinking twice, he paced through the door and waited for Simón to walk in as well before closing the door behind them.

“I’m sure this is the least you want to talk about right now, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

Simón gestured him to proceed. “Speak your mind, Antonio.”

“I know–I know it seems like we’ve already won, but please, Simón…don’t be reckless,” Antonio mumbled, he had a bad feeling about it. “Not today, not about this, please.”

“There’s nothing to worry.” Simón adjusted a button of his jacket. “We’ll be back as soon as possible, the rest of the territory will be finally free.”

The bad feeling spread all over his body giving him goosebumps, he could’'t conceive the idea of losing the war, losing everything they had done, of losing Simón. A thought came rushing to his mind, _what if he never saw the man again?_ He suddenly felt as if he had swallowed a bunch of heavy rocks. He’d never forgive himself for not confessing his feelings to Simón, they had shared too much through the years, they had done things that people in their wildest dreams couldn't even imagine; he needed Simón to know but it seemed like words were stuck on his throat.

Taking a deep breath, Antonio leant forward, closing the space between them, capturing Simón's lips into a kiss and pulling him closer. He felt the man tense against him as he kissed him, the tension of the upcoming battle was present between them and the feelings of despair and agitation made Antonio lose track of what was happening. As quickly as it had started, the kiss ended and he felt as if he had fought the biggest battle so far. His head was pounding and he couldn't breath, everything was spinning.

“Just– don't die,” he mumbled as he quickly reached the door. “ _Please_.”

“I promise.”

With those two words in his head and a heavy heart, Antonio left the room in absolute silence and retrieved to his own quarters, where he looked through the window glass at his Simón going to war.

 

* * *

 

Soon Antonio remembered why he didn't agree with staying anywhere but in the vanguard; having to wait not knowing what was happening at the lake was driving him completely crazy, he had explicit orders to wait for a messenger to ask for their assistance, but his him didn’t seem to cooperate with such simple instructions, _what if the messenger died? What if everybody died?_ _It’ll be his fault_. He couldn’t hear any shotguns being fired nor cannons, the silent was so absorbing he felt he had gone deaf and the temperature had dropped drastically to the point where fog came out of everybody’s mouth.

Suddenly he stood up from the chair he had been tried to stay put for the past few minutes, he couldn’t handle it anymore.

“You, soldier, fetch me my horse,” he exclaimed pointing at a man who was sitting close to him trying to warm up. “And you, go alert the troop that we’re on our way out to attend the vanguard, now!” Everyone seemed to share his despair since no one showed any kind of hesitation to his orders.

Antonio was shouting instructions before heading to the road when horses started arriving from the other side. The patriot army was coming back already, and even when some seemed wounded and dirty there were smiles on their faces. As they got closer, Antonio heard the laughter coming from the ones who were in the back, and his eyes started to search the white horse in between a multitude like his life depended on it. Antonio let go a big breath of air he didn’t know he was holding the moment he found him, looking sort of brown after the battle instead of pure white, Simón was on top, apparently unharmed and holding a tricolor flag close to his chest.

The men who were supposed to be led by Antonio suddenly stopped what they were doing and joined the fellow members of the party for celebration. They helped them off their horses, took care of the wounded who needed help immediately, chanted with those who were ready to get drunk and celebrate the victory. However, Antonio’s gaze remained fixed on Simón. He finally felt he could breathe properly— _he was okay, he hadn’t died, he was a true hero_. The sun was starting to et and the sky was a mix of different shades of orange, pink and blue, sutin sutin sutin patriotic heroes shit

Simón got off his horse and with large steps he reached the porch of the place. Automatically, each of the soldiers who stood in the place got off the wooden scenario, only Simón standing there and ready to give a speech. Antonio saw how O’Leary had fetched a piece of paper and was starting at Simón with bright eyes waiting for the man to start talking.

“Today, we have been victorious,” Simón Bolívar said, firm and proud. The rest of the people stood silent and expectant, whilst Antonio felt his chest fill with illusion. “The campaign that will complete your liberty has come under the most favorable auspices. The army of the General Canterac received a mortal blow in Junín, having lost, in consequence of this event, a third of his forces and all their morals. Spaniards flee in terror leaving the most fertile provinces... Very soon we will visit the home of the Peruvian Empire and the Sun Temple. Cuzco will have on the first day of his freedom more pleasure and glory than under the golden empire of their Incas"

After he finished his memorable speech, some me started clapping furiously.

“Tell everybody I don't wish to be bothered,” Simón mumbled to O’Leary, “anything they need to attend can wait until tomorrow morning.” Obeyant, O’Leary nodded, and Simón, with nothing left to say, walked towards Antonio. “We've got...things to discuss, follow me.”

Silently and without opposing, Antonio followed him into the building. _He must be furious about my decisions, about what happened before…_ All the relief that had dashed on Antonio’s body suddenly was replaced by a growing concern. As he walked into a large hallway with old paintings and moldy walls, he started panicking. People were already crowding the once empty rooms to celebrate, to sing and drink until they wouldn’t remember their given names, which hampered the task of finding a quiet place for them to speak. Antonio was about to suggest they could go to his own quarters, where they rarely could be bothered, but as they took a flight of stairs that would led them to the second floor and took the right turn instead of the left one, he instantly knew they were intended to go to Simón’s quarters.

It was the largest room in the whole house, as expected. At first, Simón had declined the offer of taking the room, but somehow the peruvian general Miller, who was in charge of the peruvian cavalry, had convinced him on accepting it. The room consisted of a large bed with a set of embroidered sheets, a small and partially crippled wardrobe standing in a corner of the quarters. A desk was also occupied a significant fraction of the room, papers, letters, maps, quills and ink were all scattered across the surface of the table, something that was, in part, thanks to Antonio and Simón’s previous talk on how to plan the strike against Canterac.

They got into Simón’s room without further hesitation, Antonio walking in first and lighting up a candle to illuminate the somber place.

“I am truly content to see you are okay, Simón,” he said in a low voice, eyes set on Simón’s back as he closed the door behind them. “Do you wish to talk about the battle? From what I’ve heard you say back there, it was a good one.”

“Yes, it was, but that isn’t what I wish to talk about in this moment,” Simón replied in a frivolous voice. “When I left, you…”

Antonio closed his eyes. He should’ve seen it coming.

“About that, I— I thought I wasn’t going to see you anymore, I apologise but I—” Antonio knew he had disrespected the orders from his captain, it had been reckless and he could have put in danger an important part of their army, but he simply couldn’t stay put. He took a glance at the man in front of him, Antonio could almost see it as if he had been in the battle himself, Simón didn't seem hurt, but blood covered his uniform and some of it was sprinkled over his face; Simón had clenched his hands into fists and seemed as if he couldn’t keep still either. “I couldn't wait until someone appeared with news, I put everyone in danger and I'm very sorry.”

“There’s no need for apologies.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?” Antonio said, confused. “I trusted you were angry due to my behaviour today, given that I have—”

“Angry?” Simón suddenly interrupted him, taking dangerous steps towards him. “I am everything but angry in this very moment.”

“I… _what_?”

A bit startled by the statement, he flinched backwards. How could he be okay with such thoughtless act? Even Antonio felt bad with himself now in the aftermath of things. However, Simón wasn’t lying. His face softened considerably as he kept advancing forward, and his words had been honest. Simón was an honest man, and he tended to be strictly upright.

“Antonio— just, keep quiet.”

For the second time that evening he felt Simón’s lips over his, but this time was different; his hands roamed over his torso backing him up against the nearest wall.

He should’ve be considering a handful of things, Simón was probably hurt and needed to be attended, his own clothes were probably getting stained with blood and mud, people outside were probably asking for him, people could simply walk on them, or more importantly, whatever could be happening out there, neither of them would know. Instead, all he could process was Simón's body pressed against his as they kissed.

“I promised you,” Simón mumbled between kisses, “I promised you I’d come back.”

Antonio shivered at the affirmation, not only Simón had survived the battle, but he also remembered his words of encouragement and concern before it. Something inside of Antonio —courage, guts— gave him strength to shift their position, pressing Simón now against the wall, their lips still pressed together as his hands were travelling up and down Simón’s body. Furthermore, Simón’s hands were set on his hips, and in a swift movement, Antonio reached for both of his hands and placed them over his arse, a silent invitation to keep doing as he pleased. Simón instantly took the hint and squeezing hard making Antonio’s breath catch on his throat.

Simón broke the kiss shifting their positions again to suddenly start pulling both of them away from the wall, pushing Antonio towards the bed and kissing his neck. He felt how Simón's hands were on his chest, and the next moment, the man ripped open the top of his uniform. Antonio fell on the hard mattress, sitting instantly in the border of the bed. Simón looked beautiful from there, and the smile on his face only motivated him to reach for his torso and pull him closer, his body fitting between Antonio’s legs.

Simón let his uniform jacket slip to the floor leaving him with his undershirt half opened, the man tried to unbutton it as they kissed, but Antonio simply ripped it apart as he grew impatient; the sound of tiny buttons echoed against the floor as Simón climbed to the bed on and over him.

“Take it off,” he muttered, pulling hard at Antonio’s breeches who desperately tried to unbutton his own undershirt. “Take it all off.”

Just as their clothes fell to the floor, Antonio couldn’t help but smile widely at the thought of how much he had been wanting for something, _anything_ like that to happen between them. It felt dreamlike, like if he had been waiting for countless time for something that was out of his boundaries, yet he didn’t know could ever be so real. He kissed Simón like he had never kissed anyone before, he kissed his face, his blood stained neck, his collarbone, every inch of him he could reach, and it made shivers run through his spine every time the man groaned under his frantic touch.

Antonio whimpered as Simón swiftly moved on top of his naked self grinding their bodies together over and over again as they kept pressing their lips together. It felt good, nothing like what he’d ever experienced before. Everything was different, the sounds, the touches, the waves of pleasure he felt every time Simón moved against him, each time with more harshness than before. But just as he was enjoying more and more as the time passed, Antonio realised all of the sudden that he had no idea what they were doing. He’d had sex before, but it’d always been with women, and everything was happening too fast, he hadn’t gotten the time to acknowledge what was happening. The only thing he was certain of is that he wanted Simón, he needed him.

“Simón, wait, I—… I’ve never been with another…”

“Man? It’s perfectly okay, neither have I.” Simón pressed their bodies harder together, tangling their legs with one another. “But I’m glad you’re my first.”

With that being said, Simón grabbed both of their cocks together and started stroking them slowly. Antonio’s back arched in pleasure at the touch, grinding their bodies once again. His cheeks were burning red every time he caught a glimpse of Simón’s lopsided smirk, his lips only parting from time to time to give a grunt out of pleasure that made Antonio flustered.

There was no doubt that Simón had also been expecting for something to happen between the two of them for a while now, considering how eager he looked for kissing Antonio as his life was on the line. Simón easily leant in to press their lips together into another kiss.  Every time their lips touched there was a spark that lighted between them, something Antonio couldn’t quite put into words. Slowly but firmly, Simón started to increase the jerks, his hand moved quicker, instantly forcing Antonio to throw his head back and break the kiss to gasp for air.

“Jee—… _jesuschrist._ ”

“Does that feel good?” Simón whispered over his neck; Antonio could only nod enthusiastically. “Fantastic, then.”

Having Simón touching him the way he used to touch himself, from time to time even thinking of similar situations to the one happening at the moment, felt a thousand times better than he could ever have imagined it could truly feel. His eyes were closed, but he opened his eyelids from time to time only to check everything was real, that Simón was truly there.

His hand kept on moving up and down both of their lengths, Antonio trying not to moan as Simón started to move his hand faster, and whenever their cocks touched he felt a wave of pleasure running down his spine. All of the sudden, Simón retrieved his hand, letting go of both of their cocks. Antonio had to suppress a groan. He wanted the pleasure to continue, to have Simón touching him in a way no one ever had, to keep stroking him with the same care and determination.

Antonio’s eyes widened as he felt one of Simón’s hands settling between his already parted legs. At first he thought his intentions were to squeeze his buttcheeks, but he only spread them apart to press one of his fingers in his entrance. Simón slowly nudged it in, making him whimper abruptly. Simón kissed him as his other hand went to Antonio's side, running his fingers up and down his torso in a soothing motion. He was a bit hesitant at first, the feeling was unknown to him, but as Simón started to curl his finger up, he started to enjoy it just as much.

He got quickly accustomed at the slightly burning feeling, it stopped being awkward as he slowly relaxed against it, but his breath got caught on his throat the moment Simón tried to slide a second finger in without any warning or preparation.

“Wait—... _no_ ,” he stammered feeling like the sudden change was much more than he could handle. “Hold on.”

“Are you alright?” Simón asked, stopping immediately.

Nervous to reply, Antonio only shook his head lightly, hoping Simón would understand. Apparently, he did, because he quickly drew back and mumbling a small “ _wait_ ,” he got off Antonio’s body. Quickly, Simón moved to a side of the mattress and opened the drawer next to the bed, with a quick glance Antonio saw him withdrawing the filling can of lamp oil.

“Oh…” he muttered as Simón coated himself and his fingers before going back to his previous task, adding another digit. Then, he started curling them in such way that Antonio couldn’t help but moan loudly. _Oh_. It actually felt good.

As it had happened at first, the burning feeling of Simón stretching him quickly stopped being painful, the oil was doing wonders as well, and as the man moved his fingers in and out of his body Antonio felt his hips moving by themselves towards the touch along with low moans escaping from his lips.

As he panted, he realised he had never felt such amount of pleasure before, not from a woman nor himself. If Simón kept doing that, Antonio was certain he wouldn’t last much longer either; but the next moment, Simón withdrew his fingers, but before Antonio could protest, they were replaced by his cock.

Antonio groaned, his words of encouragement got caught on his throat as Simón started moving slowly; he tangled his fingers on Simón’s hair as he leaned closer to give him another kiss. It felt good, it felt weird, it felt like the only thing that he could compare to it was winning a battle, the rush and emotions contained that were fighting their way out when they reclaimed a territory.

Simón's thrusts became faster accompanied by loud groans and hungry kisses; he was sure he wouldn't last longer if Simón kept lightly brushing against his cock in between their bodies. He felt the world spinning around them, the flame from the lamp he had turned on earlier danced in such sensuous way that filled the room with a mix of shadows and shapes that made Antonio close his eyes and concentrate on everything that surrounded them; the feeling of Simón’s body thrusting erratically against him, the melody of sounds that filled the room, the absurdly arousing way Simón smelled, of sweat, blood, dirt and the way it was stuck to the two of them now. How the room seemed too hot yet he felt no need to move aside nor untangle their bodies, it felt perfect, it was perfect and he couldn’t have ever wanted it any other way.

Suddenly, Simón’s hand was over his cock once again stroking him quickly as he thrusted into him without mercy; Antonio felt like of these new sensations had taken over his body, and as Simón stilled letting go a long moan, they both reached their climax.

He had no idea how long they laid there without moving. His muscles were tense, and his chest was moving up and down as if he’d spent hours running up a steep hill. They took several glances at each other, giving small smiles. Still, it wasn’t until their breaths slowed down that Simón moved to a side collapsing on the bed. Antonio felt as a dull sensation took over him, his limbs felt heavy and he started to feel the chilly temperature of the room.

Carefully, Antonio rolled to his side to take a glance of Simón, he was staring at the ceiling trying to control his breathing; now that he realised, he wasn’t badly hurt, a scratch on his arm as well as a tiny one on his jaw; it had been an easy fight for what he had heard when they arrived. Sweat pooled over Simón’s collarbones and chest, even over his freckled shoulders, but even then, he started to shiver slightly, the rush from the battle had finally worn off.

Antonio pulled the covers from under himself and made Simón get under them as well. The man turned to stare him with the same expression he probably had, something between tired and content; Antonio could only grin before moving closer and, after hesitating for just a second, curling next to Simón whose arm moved to surround his body and pull him even closer.


	6. Cuzco, Perú, 1825.

It had been nearly a year since Antonio had last seen Simón. The amount of letters they’d sent each other during the lapse of time they’d been apart had increased considerably. Before that August night in Lima, the letter they sent each were mostly concerning political matters or battle strategies, others were just formal reports of the doing of the new lands under the Great Colombia. However, now letters told much more than they did before.

They’d kept code, writing between the lines, phrases or sentences that only they would understand. Sometimes Antonio got lost in his own mind, imagining scenarios in which their letters would end up in the wrong hands, and somehow rumours could originate between jealous members of their companies. Simón knew about those thoughts, _of course he did_ , and that cold night, hours after having sex for the second time, as they laid in bed together holding each other close to keep warm, Simón assured him no one would ever find out about them.

“And if someone does find out, I trust that you’re skilled enough to point them in the wrong direction,” Simón said turning to his side and facing Antonio. “And if not, to at least make them keep their mouth shut.”

Simón had put such trust in him that it made his chest feel warm as he smiled; he leaned closer kissing the man again that night, he wanted to thank him for, well, _everything_. Antonio couldn’t quite put into words what he felt and he hoped that a kiss would suffice for the night.

“Does _this_ change everything?” Antonio inquired shily as he lifted his head from Simón’s chest. There was no need in clarifying what he meant with those words, he was certain Simón was aware of what was going on in his head. Asking took him a lot of courage, but he _needed_ to know.

“Nothing, everything…” Simón simply muttered with a small grin on his face as his finger kept tracing paths on Antonio’s naked chest. “What’s the difference, anyway? Things will only be different if you want them to be, my _Grand Marshal of Ayacucho._ ”

He blushed at the way his newest title sounded in Simón’s voice, a title that he’d earned in the Ayacucho battle in December of the past year.

“Sleep now,” he said, running his fingertips over Antonio’s hair. “Tomorrow will be a gracious day.”

 

* * *

 

When Antonio woke up the next morning, Simón had already left his quarters. As he stirred, a chilly breeze blowing into the room, his fingers reached a small piece of paper. Antonio held it up, his tired eyes fixing on the small written words on the paper. In Simón’s unmistakable handwriting, the words read “ _I have some matters to attend. Look over at the desk. We’ll see each other before you go. I promise._ ” Antonio smiled. He felt lightheaded the moment he stood up from the bed, his steps a bit clumsy, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he crossed to the other side of the place where a wooden table stood, the one that earlier that week had been covered in maps and petitions from soldiers who remained in other lands.

Over the now naked surface of the table stood a pile of papers. Antonio guessed it wasn’t over twenty pages, so he pulled one of the chairs from the table and sat. As he took the first, blank page away, his eyes instantly flickered over the title of the paper he held in his hands and he froze.

“ _Succinct summary of the life of General Sucre, by Simón Bolívar,_ ” he read out loud, heart beating fast inside his ribcage. Appended to that first page was a rather smaller piece of paper before the text really began, and Antonio began to read it in a heartbeat.

 

> _“Believe me, General, nobody loves you glory as I do. Never has a Commander in Chief manifested more glory to a subordinate. Right now it is printing, a relationship of your life made by me; doing my consciousness as I give you what you deserve…(...)_
> 
> _your Bolívar.”_

Antonio was speechless. Simón had never written anything in what biographies concerned about, which made Antonio feel both joyful and proud. To have such honour was something he’d never imagined. His cheeks were burning red in the early hours of that morning, and as he stared blankly at the papers, little flashback of the previous night started playing in the back of his mind. Simón’s hands on his body, his lips over his own, their bodies entwined into one. No matter what happened in the following days, months, years, Antonio was certain such memories would accompany him till the day he perished.

Thankful for the half flask of hooch there was left in the table, Antonio brought it closer, along with a small glass they used for water, and poured himself over half the glass of it. Little did he care to be late for that afternoon talks, his plans were to spend whatever time it took him finishing Simón’s writing on him. He’d be ready when Simón’d be back.

 

* * *

 

Later that year, once established the Upper Peru Congress, Antonio put a stamp on a certificate which sustained the approval of the congress final decision, creating now the Republic of Bolivia, in honour of the liberator, the man whom he admired and loved as no other man ever would, Simón Bolívar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolívar actually wrote [Sucre's biography](http://www.aduanas.com.ve/boletines/boletin_38/sucre.htm). Such love tbh. And he did write Sucre about it, in [a fragment](http://www.efemeridesvenezolanas.com/sec/his/id/174/?show=1) of a letter sent in 1825.


	7. Quito, Ecuador, 1829.

“He’s here!” A soldier exclaimed cheerfully, immediately catching Antonio’s attention. “The Liberator has arrived!”

They were out in an open field at late hours of the afternoon, most of them still sat over the worn saddles on their horses, patiently waiting for the Liberator to finally arrive in Quito, something they’d been expecting for the past week. Antonio was equally nervous, his hands were sweating inside the leather gloves he wore that day, gripping the strings tightly as he was able to spot Palomo approaching the green grass from the distance. Behind the white horse there were at least one and a half hundred men following closely, but for Antonio there was only one man that mattered the most.

Antonio instantly jumped off his horse, casually stepping right into a big puddle of mud. His leather boots got stained, little brown dots splattered on the black surface that he’d cleaned just before leaving the place they’d been staying at. However, he tried not to care as he walked into the green, listening footsteps behind him. Only a few of his fellow companions had gotten off their horses as well, and were following him as he reached a middle point as where he’d previously been and where Simón had stopped.

The way Simón’s lips curved into a joyful smile as their eyes met only made Antonio’s heart beat faster. It’d been a long time since they’d last seen each other, and many things had happened ever since. Last year, there had been an attempt to murder Simón, and when the news had reached Antonio’s ears, his blood had turned icy cold. He’d written the Liberator at least five letters on the same week, desperate to know something from him, to read he was okay, to prove he was still alive whatever distance there was between them.

Unexpectedly, Simón pranced forward until he was face to face with Antonio, who immediately offered his hand for a handshake. It was something common between them, to greet each other as two common generals would. However, that afternoon things were a bit different. Simón did grab his hand, but only to pull him towards him and then loop his arms around Antonio’s shoulders. They were in front of many people, many soldiers who perhaps had only spoken with Simón two or three times before, and to see such act of closeness was something that took Antonio a few moments to process before he could embrace Simón back.

“My dear Antonio…” Simón whispered sweetly into his ear. “…you have no idea how dearly I’ve missed you.”

He chuckled, his arms firmly around Simón’s waist. “Believe me, I do have an idea.”

“It’s been so long…too long.” The words weren’t foreign in Antonio’s ears, but hearing them from Simón’s voice and not only reading them on paper. In his letters those words could be read over and over again, along with the promise of meeting each other soon. “I’m truly happy to see you here.”

“As am I, _my beloved Liberator_.”

They kept on holding each other for a brief moment, Antonio realising he’d been clenching Simón’s jacket with both of his hands only when the man let go of him. He tried to keep the composure as he took a step backwards, clasping his hands behind his back in an act of mere respect. Simón kept smiling at him, and he wanted to treasure the moment forever. Would they write about that precise moment when the pass of the time? Simón Bolívar, greatest man of the continent, greeting the General Sucre in an act of pure friendship? Or would it be something that only Antonio would cherish with such godliness?

He soon realised it was not the time nor the place to ponder about such things. Not only did he wish to arrive to a place where they could spend some time together, but he felt all the curious eyes of the men that surrounded them on him, and tilted his head towards the dirt path, he spoke.

“Pardon my intromission, Simón, but you look rather exhausted. It has been a long journey, and perhaps a good rest would do you good.” A hand was placed on top of his shoulder, a small yet intimate gesture between them. “Shall we get on our way?”

“We shall,” Simón agreed. “I believe you have many things to tell me.”

“You know I do,” Antonio acknowledged in reply.

They shared a small nod that both were aware meant much more than just that, and instantly got back to their own horses. Once Simón’s party joined his own, Antonio couldn’t help but notice some laughter behind his back, and with the hint of a smirk on his face, he started to get in his way back. He hadn’t even reached over the hills when Simón was all of the sudden galloping by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolívar and Sucre did see each other and the only major event was that [they hugged](http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anexo:Cronolog%C3%ADa_de_Sim%C3%B3n_Bol%C3%ADvar#1829), according to wiki. If it was a big thing for them then it's a big thing for us.


	8. Bogotá, Colombia, 1830.

“You need to be careful this time, Antonio.”

For the tenth time that day, he sighed. “We've already discussed this today, shouldn't we move forward?”

“I simply need to make sure nothing will come unplanned.”

“If we execute the plan as we have settled it, and with God’s blessing, things shall be ideal for us.”

“I know, but…we can’t afford losing you, Antonio.” Simón spoke as he fixed some papers in front of him, and Antonio couldn't help but to stare at him. He was able to notice the concern in his voice, and it unsettled him. They'd been through tougher tasks, and they’d been victorious. Suddenly, Simón turned, their eyes locking together. “I can’t afford losing you,” he added in a low voice that only Antonio could heard.

Afraid of what he could say if he opened his mouth to reply, Antonio limited himself to give a reassuring smile and glancing away at some roses hid behind a big tree.

They were outside, enjoying the sun shining bright above them. The good weather had allowed them to check the last details of their upcoming attack in the green gardens of a big old house that had been prepared just for them. It was a nice place to stay, big enough for them to have privacy but warm enough to feel welcome. People treated Antonio with similar if not the same respect they had for Simón. Being the responsible for the freedom of half a continent had its perks, Antonio thought.

“Have you spoken to Flores about the defense as we've discussed?” Simón inquired leaning over a map stretched on the improvised table.

“You know I did,” he mumbled back with a smile. “You've been asking me to do that every single day since I arrived here, Simón,” Antonio added still getting close and double checking the spot where he’d been looking obsessively.

The man sitting in the far corner of the arbour muffled a laugh while staring at his book; the day he arrived to Bogotá, Simón had introduced him to his favorite teacher, Rodríguez, the one who had apparently put all those revolutionary thoughts into his head, for which Antonio was thankful for. The curious man didn't seem to speak much unless he had something important to add to the conversation. Still, Antonio realised that he hadn’t missed one word from it.

“Come on, you can’t blame me to be worried about this mission, everyone has their eyes on it and represents an important region we need to take care of,” Simón said stretching away from the table and placing a hand on his lower back. “Besides, it’s not like the one in charge is a simple captain, it is the famous _Grand Marshal of Ayacucho..._ “ Simón teased knowing that the use of the title would make Antonio’s colour rise to his cheeks.

“Simon, please," he muttered. “Th–…”

“Look me in the eye and tell me if it’d be responsible of me to put that much trust in some captain whom I've barely seen a couple times," Simon asked, voice firm and honest. “Would I give them the freedom to go and set free such regions under my name and not put a few thousand conditions onto them?”

Antonio took a deep breath, looking away from the maps and directly to the man in front of him. He seemed undoubtedly tired, but somewhat confident enough to publicly tease him, and there was no thing Antonio would give at the moment to simply close the space between them and kiss him like he had done in what it seemed like a long time ago.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he simply added before turning his gaze back to the maps.

“General Bolívar! Please, a word!” A messenger shouted from the other side of the garden near the house, some place behind the big peach trees. As Simón excused himself and walked towards the messenger, Antonio couldn't help but smile at the thought of how things had changed during the years, at how luck and well planned strategies had brought them together into such incredible journey.

“General Sucre.”

Rodríguez’ voice caught Antonio’s attention. It was only the two of them now and he hadn't noticed how quiet everything was until the older man spoke. He turned, a hand on his waist and the other one on the pommel of his sword.

“I see it.”

Oblivious at what he might be referring to, Antonio cleared his throat and tilted his head quizzically. “Excuse me, sir?”

“The way you look at him, Marshal,” Rodríguez explained with the same calmed tone he used when he tried to lecture Simón. “That kind of love in devotion in your eyes whenever you speak with him are similar to as those of a lover.”

Antonio froze as the man gave him an apprehensive look.

“Ehrm, I'm sure your extensive knowledge of General Bolívar is capable of seeing affections in ways that seem exaggerated, sir,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Nevertheless, the image of Simón telling him that he was capable of handling this kind of situations struck his mind making him blush.

“I…understand,” Rodríguez said gently, lifting his eyes from the book he had in front of him. “A man such as Simón is capable of doing incredible things, we've all been more than privileged to see it, even live it,” the man smirked in a way that seemed nostalgic as he took a glimpse of Simón on the other side of the garden. “but I also know, that he isn't capable of doing it alone.”

“I-I think it’s highly inappropriate…”

“Don't worry, Captain,” Rodríguez said with a smile. “All of Simón’s secrets are safe with me”

 

* * *

 

> _“General Sucre._
> 
> _My beloved General, and good friend... The noticeable undated letter I've received from you, in which you pay your farewells to me,has filled me with affection, and if it’s been hard for you to write it, what could I say? That not only I’m separating from my good friend but from my own country! You quite say: in these circumstances words can't explain the feelings of the heart; which is why I need to apologise for my lack of words lately, therefore I hope you can forgive me for it as I give you my warmest wishes for your prosperity and happiness. I'll forget you when the lovers of glory forget Pichincha and Ayacucho. You will be happy to acknowledge that from Bogota to this place I have received thousands of testimonials from people. This department is particularly distinguished. General Montilla has behaved like a perfect gentleman._
> 
> _I insist, nothing is more sincere than the love I have for you, my dear friend,_
> 
> _your Bolívar.”_

“My Bolívar…”

Antonio read the letter over three times that morning. It was a warm morning and he’d awoken far too earlier than he’d needed. The letter had arrived as he was breaking his fast, which was a late reply to the one he'd left in Simón’s bedroom before they had to part away. There was sentiment in the letter, something common in his writings now, and Antonio could definitely spend hours and hours rereading those magnificent texts countless times.

After some weeks of planning, the day had finally come. Antonio was alone in a room that would be empty if it weren't for a small bed. There was nothing else, but for a small night table with an oil lamp above the surface of the wood.

With nothing left to do but prepare himself and get his horse, Antonio grabbed a quill, ink and paper, and kneeling on the dirty floor of the room, he began to write.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he received the news of the revoltings at Quito, he parted towards the city; there was no way all the effort they had put into building the so new called Great Colombia were going to be thrown overboard. There were plans for him to go through Panama and reach Quito in time, but the last minute, there had been a change of plans, the place seemed surrounded by hidden enemies according to a letter, the other comfortable option for it was through Buenaventura, but it wasn't a secret for anyone that Murgueitio was waiting for him there. After ruling out the options, they parted from Bogotá to go through the mountains of Berruecos and spend a while longer in the road; the soil wasn't comfortable for anyone but at least it seemed more secure.

At least that’s what he thought right before hearing a noise on a bush on one side of the road, followed by screams and horses neighing nervously.

“Why are we stopping?” Antonio shouted.

“RUN, GENERAL!” Yelled a man from his own company as he moved his hands encouragingly. “IT'S AN AMBUSH, GO AWAY!”

Without thinking it twice, he turned his horse around and started galloping as people moved away for him to pass, but suddenly he found the road totally closed by a group of men pointing at them with guns.

The last thing he saw before falling mortally unconscious to the ground was the blue sky over him.

 

* * *

 

The hammock was tied between two large trees, a comfort Simón had allowed himself to have after hours of galloping through a dense grove of trees. Wearing only a white and loosen shirt, Simón rested on the hammock, whistling the melody of an old tune he'd heard in one of his travels to Paris. It brought back memories that he'd rather to keep buried, yet this didn’t keep him from stop the whistling.

Soldiers around him were resting as well, some still on the saddles of their horses, others laying on improvised beds that consisted of large banana plant leaves and where the mud wasn’t that doughy. Others had taken their leave to a river that happened to be nearby, which automatically brought a smile to Simón’s face, as well as memories of his first non-political encounters with Antonio, something that had become quite a habit.

Suddenly, in the quietness of the proximities Simón heard leaves creaking by the harsh and fast galloping of a hurried horse. He did nothing but move his head in its direction, wondering if something was wrong as he spotted one of his men carrying an envelope. The man, short and of a set jaw, jumped off his horse and walked towards Simón. He stood no more than five steps close to the hammock, keeping his position as messenger and only that.

“Liberator, sir!” Alarmed, the messenger said, looking away at some place between the trees. “I’ve brought news.”

Simón shifted on the hammock. “Speak your mind.”

“It’s…it’s about general Sucre, sir…H-he…”

His heart stopped for a fraction of second.

“What about general Sucre?” Simón asked in an incriminating tone that made the messenger evidently nervous.

“General Antonio José de Sucre was on his way to Quito when there was an ambush, sir. He was shot two times in the chest, but there was also a shot in his skull…” The small messenger stopped for a moment, and the sudden gasps of horror could be heard around him. “…local habitants confirmed it was general Sucre without a single doubt. The general was…”

Simón knew the messenger was still speaking, but he couldn’t keep hearing to what he said. Antonio was dead. It was as if a part of him had suddenly gone away. He was dead and nothing that the messenger had to say was going to change that. After years of losing people he loved, this was the only that got to him like nothing ever had. Simón had spent years trying not to get attached to anyone, but then Antonio had come into his life and suddenly he seemed to have something that had been missing from his life all along. They’d battled together, stood side by side during good and bad times, laughed together, loved together, and now… now Simón was truly alone.

“That’s…that’s enough, messenger,” he suddenly interrupted him as he got on his feet, controlling his weak voice not to break down in that bare moment.

“But sir—”

“ _Enough_ ,” Simón roared angrily. Angry at the messenger for bringing the information, angry at the coward who’d shot Antonio, angry for not being there to do something— anything to guard him. He was barefoot and felt several sticks and sharp rocks digging on his heels, yet the pain was nothing compared to the heartache the news had caused him. “God Almighty! The blood of Abel has been shed! The cruel bullet that struck him in the heart has killed Colombia and taken my life away,” he said out loud, aware of Daniel O’Leary writing down his words, aware of the sad singing of a cardinal. None of this seemed to matter anymore. “They’ve killed him because he was my successor, they’ve killed him because they knew I…”

_I loved him like I will never love another._

Simón needed to get away.

All the eyes were on him, and he felt them as tiny daggers digging on his back and shoulders. Desperate to have his sword, Simón turned around furiously, almost stumbling with the hammock as he spotted the weapon dunk in the dirt.

“I need to be left alone,” Simón informed them before turning on his heels and storming off.

He should’ve gotten further away if it weren’t for a hand circling his wrist and keeping him in place. Simón turned around, his blood rushing in his veins with adrenaline.

“General Bolívar, wait.” It was the messenger, who let go of him immediately. He held an envelope, the one he’d carried when he arrived in the horse earlier. “This letter was addressed for you, it has general Sucre’s signature on it.”

Without saying a word, Simón grabbed it and walked away.

He walked, no one called out for him, or at least he didn’t hear it.

He walked until he was certain no one could hear him scream.

He walked until his feet were drawing blood.

He walked until he stumbled and fell to the dirt.

With sword in hand, Simón started to give blows to some of the plants nearby, tearing them apart as if they were the ones who’d killed Antonio. He saw the green leafs being sliced in half by his sharp sword, again, and again, and again. It was a way of getting rid of all the grief he had in that moment, but could he ever be able to, whilst he felt as the one who’d pulled the trigger instead?

 _The Grand Marshal of Ayacucho had died_ , but the memories would never fade away— they would never leave him.

After ravaging all the green that was reachable, Simón was a mess. His once white clothes had green, brown and blood stains all round, his hair was stuck on his face, a thin line of blood went from his temple and disappeared down his neck. He was sobbing, and it was then, exhausted and broken, when he sat down and ripped the envelope with his bare hands. They were shaking, even when he’d retrieved the piece of paper from it. It was only one page— _Antonio’s last words to him._

With a heavy heart and clouded vision, he began to read it.

 

> _“To the General Bolívar._
> 
> _My General:_
> 
> _When I arrived to accompany you, you were already gone._
> 
> _This is a good thing, because it has avoided me the hurt of the most shameful goodbye. Right now, my crumpled heart does not know what to write you anymore._
> 
> _More so, there are no words capable of explaining the feelings of my soul towards you; you know them already, because you have known me for a long time now and also know it is not your power, but your friendship what has inspired the warmest affection toward you. I’ll keep you close, no matter my destiny, and I am sure you will keep the love you have always had for me. I will know how to deserve it._
> 
> _Goodbye, my General, receive as a token of my affection the tears that makes me pour the absence of you._
> 
> _From your most loyal and passionate friend,_
> 
> _Antonio J. de Sucre.”_
> 
>  

And in the middle of the tropical forest, Simón Bolívar sat down and wept as he’d never done before.

More than ever, now Simón had a reason to fulfil his dream— their dream. He’d promised it to Antonio, and he’d make it happen or die trying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little fragment of Bolívar's letter Sucre reads before leaving for Quito can also be read [in here.](http://www.gramscimania.info.ve/2009/06/carta-de-despedida-de-simon-bolivar.html)  
> The text of Antonio José de Sucre's last letter is taken from the [original text](http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonio_Jos%C3%A9_de_Sucre#.C3.9Altima_carta_a_Bol.C3.ADvar), as well as [Bolívar's reaction](http://www.fundacite-aragua.gob.ve/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=378:sucre-entrego-su-vida-por-una-patria-libre-y-soberana&catid=57:mppctii-) when he heard about Sucre's death.


End file.
